Doublet
by Gelana
Summary: dou·blet \ˈdəb-lət\ n. Definition: 1 : something consisting of two identical or similar parts: a lens consisting of two components 2 : a set of two identical or similar things 3 : one of a pair; specifically : one of two or more words (as guard and ward) in the same language derived by different routes of transmission from the same source (merriam webster)
1. Chapter 1

The first time she said his given name aloud was in the barest of whispers, followed by a gasp. It didn't hurt exactly, it was more a sensation of being stretched tight, of sliding fullness.

He was all hesitant sweetness and gallantry; teasing her with butterfly touches, holding away from her in cautious concern, oblivious to what she desired of him, of what she tried to communicate with tipped hips and her searching mouth. She could feel his fear. His hands were gentle, his kisses were tender, and he was entirely without the urgency and power of that afternoon. He touched her like she was something precious and fragile. He moved within her with such concentration and care. It wasn't that she didn't like it — she did, very much — but she wanted to be stretched open and raw, to feel resounding pleasure drum through them, or barring that, to leave the encounter knowing she'd had it.

"John," she whispered, and pushed at his shoulder.

He held himself back, withdrew from her so suddenly it made her gasp. "I hurt you?"

"No," she said. "But..."

Anna had no idea how to voice what she wanted, instead she pushed again, at his hip, guided him onto his back and knelt next to him. She blushed, unsure of how to explain. The sight of him distracted her, all dark hair and pale skin, supine in the candlelight. She ran her hand over his thigh, bit her lip in shocked delight when his cock twitched. And frowned when she saw how terrified he looked.

"Would you please leave off with that this minute," she said, fixing him with a stern look, or as stern a look as she could manage given her state of complete undress. "With whatever it is that's making you touch me like it's the first time we've ever kissed."

"I don't want to..."

"Honestly, Mr. Bates. I'll tell you if you're hurting me," she said bluntly, then lowered her voice. "Have we not established that I am far stronger than I look?" Her cheeks burned, for his touch or from embarrassment, she wasn't sure. It took her a bit to work up the nerve to continue.

"Would ... would like this be alright?" she asked quietly, rising up on her knees, resting her fingertips on his stomach, feeling very naked.

John watched her raptly and gave a small nod. His breath caught, changed, quickened; she felt powerful.

He twitched again when she slid her leg over him. They shifted together, bodies silent and screaming, haltingly negotiating the space they shared. Finding the ways they fit was a strange sort of pleasure in and of itself. She pressed the wet heat of her sex to his erection, whispering her love in intimate profanities. He hushed her with kisses, but when she took him back inside of her, it was she who muffled his groans with her mouth. She could barely open her eyes from the intensity of it. And his hands - the warm width of his hands spanned her ribs, skimmed the skin of her hips while he thrust inside of her. Her thighs burned from holding herself above him, from rocking down onto him over and over again. He'd tried to stop her, tried to slow her down but she'd ignored him, and finally he gave himself over to it, came alive and feral beneath her, moving with abandon for a short stretch. It felt like they were both fighting to hold on, clawing for purchase. And for a moment she was terrified because she knew, with a sudden, sick feeling, that he would be gone soon; taken into custody. She had known in her gut for a long time. It was why she had insisted, why she had told him with determined finality what he would do, that they would be married. She was neither innocent nor naive; she knew what was coming. But with him in her arms, buried nearly painfully inside of her, she could almost ignore the juggernaut headed towards them. She could make herself forget for a night. The strangled noise he made when he came helped.


	2. Chapter 2

Laying on his bed in the quiet hours when night bled through to morning, she thought about how humbly and sweetly he'd kissed her after she'd taken him so many months ago. Anna found the swell of her breasts beneath her cotton nightdress, remembered the way she had sprawled next to him, suddenly uninhibited, unafraid of her nakedness.

That afternoon she gleaned — from the coded words of his most recent letter — that he was thinking about their wedding night. About being overwhelmed by her beauty. Her fingers brushed over her thigh and she remembered how he had touched her that night. "We belong to each other now," she'd whispered, rolling toward him as he slipped under the sheet and blanket he'd fluffed and floated over her nude body. "Truly."

He'd teased her about having her way with him. She couldn't remember what they had said beyond that. Not exactly. Just that she felt profoundly and deeply loved. Anna thought of how he'd kissed her until she held to him and rocked into his hand, until the only words she could form were "John" and "please." Those two words passed over her lips again and again; a sort of oath or prayer. She hooked her fingers into the solid flesh of his back and shoulders and silently sobbed her release into his skin. Anna tried to find it — that moment of blinding pleasure in the darkness — but found an echo instead.


	3. Chapter 3

John Bates entered into in a state of surreal and drawn out disbelief bleeding into cautious hope. It all went exponentially fast. He barely recalled anything about leaving the prison, beyond the sounds of jeers and hisses, and the clang of metal on metal. A year and a half since his arrest, since their quiet, courthouse wedding. He knew his wife, believed Anna when she said she didn't regret anything. Still he worried. Experience taught him that a man leaves prison changed. This time had been harder than the first. She didn't know, nor would he tell her, but he had been more of a target. Visits from a lord and a beautiful young wife hadn't ingratiated him to the other prisoners or the guards.

In the end, his biggest frustration was that they wouldn't let him shave, and only because he didnt want her to see him so disheveled. The only dignity he had was that with which he moved and he refused to be rushed, walked at his pace, felt out the luxury of the cane. When the final gate opened he held himself tall, and of course, to the swell of his heart, she was the first thing he saw as the doors shut behind him. Smart and immaculate, and as always more beautiful than he remembered, she burst forth from the gleaming car and with a cursory pause and a grin, she ran to him. The sense of relief eclipsed him for a moment when she was finally in his arms. Nothing had changed even if everything was different. He glanced at her lips and she lifted her chin in eager permission, met his mouth with her own, no doubt scandalizing the driver, but John was beyond caring. Her kiss woke him, rooted him in the present, in this reality, the one in which he was free and Anna's lawful husband. He could scarce believe it, though he knew his wife; when she determined to achieve a thing, she achieved it. Anna was radiant in her joy, in her own relief, and he couldn't help but smile.

"Let's go," he said and pulled her to the car, eager to face their future, to be driven away from the ridiculous farce that was their life for eighteen long months. Once they settled inside she seemed to sense the edges of his anxiety. Smoothing his sleeve, she gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. The depths of loneliness he experienced these many months settled over him. He'd missed her so much, didn't realize how much he needed her presence, her voice, until he was without her. She caught his eye, he offered a smile, schooled his expression and gratefully accepted her touches. Once headed towards their future, his worries began anew. His mind was finely tuned to focus on a thing. It was one of his finest strengths and biggest weaknesses, and for now it meant that he was swarmed with buzzing concerns. How would the staff receive him? What would become of his place in the household with Thomas attending His Lordship? How would it be going about returning to respectable life, when every single person in the countryside knew their troubles? It was all over the papers. Anna hadn't spoken of it, but he suspected that not all were as kind and understanding as their employers. He worried about providing for his wife, and about other things. Things that existed just beyond the edge of his thoughts that he couldn't quite name.

Mr. Stark dropped them off by the servants' courtyard. Which was blessedly empty, to John's relief. It meant a few more seconds of peace before the inevitable need to face everyone. She'd pulled him aside, tugged him by the wrist behind a stack of crates. Ever aware of the nuances of him, she wrapped her arms around his waist and just stood with him for a while.

"It will be fine." She whispered to him with her eyebrows raised. She was so lovely he had to force himself to listen to her. "Breakfast will be nearly finished and everyone will be going about their day. You'll be able to slip away to your room once you eat something."

He kissed the crown of her hat, and then the bud of her lips when she stood on her toes and offered it to him. From the outside he probably appeared to be the sturdier of the two, but he knew the truth. Since the beginning she had been his rock, a font of endless strength and love. He thought on their wedding night and how terrified he was of losing control. He'd balked at her assertiveness, her cheek when he dropped a cuff link and it skittered over the floor. She'd clicked her tongue at him, all teasing smirk.

"Now, now Mr. Bates, there's no need to rush. We have all night," she'd said, as tartly as he'd ever heard her. After she retrieved the silver stud from where it rolled, she'd unfastened his other cuff link, kissed, then nipped the heel of his hand before not so subtly brushing it over the swell of her breast. She stepped away from him almost immediately, smiling in an almost predatory way, and tucked the pair into his jacket pocket, where it lay thrown over the wing-backed chair. He had known in the moment when she turned her attention back to him, that he was done for, that she would test every ounce of his restraint.

It sometimes frightened him how much he wanted her, made him feel unhinged. His desire cut through him then in the muted morning light, behind the stack of crates. He juddered at the feel of her bare hand against his stubbled cheek. This speck of a woman held him completely in her thrall. Fortunately for him, she ended their embrace of her own accord, because he wouldn't have been able to. She stepped away from him, smoothed her clothes, smirked at him, and only looked for a second like she might cry.

"Soon," she whispered. "For now, they'll be expecting us."

"Come on then, Mrs. Bates," he said and held out his hand to her. "We mustn't keep them waiting."


	4. Chapter 4

His cell had been dark. It still was, it just wasn't _his_ anymore. He wouldn't be going back, and needed to remind himself every few breaths. He wouldn't suddenly wake from this dream to guards shoving him along dim, cold corridors. He propelled himself slowly up the stairs to his attic room of his own accord. It was strange to move about on his own, to be touched with respect, to have his hand shaken and his arm clasped, his back patted. Strange to be welcomed. Everyone stood close, smiling, pleased to see him, no one barked for them to move apart. Even with Thomas, where no love was lost, he wouldn't have to watch for the glint of metal in scarred hands.

He knew he would be flooded by people when they walked in. He could steel himself against it, but he couldn't steel himself against her. She'd kissed him so deeply in the courtyard he still felt it. It had left him half hard and trembling. They had both needed a moment to collect themselves.

He hadn't flinched yet, flinched much. He opened the door to his room and could smell her. Not any chambermaid. His Anna.

The room was spotless. Cleaner than he left it. She had been here. Not just to dust, either. She'd spent time in his room. He walked to the bed and lifted his pillow to his face. It smelled of her hair, of her skin. He held it to his chest and sighed. The grief she'd endured because of him. A white square shone from where it had been pressed flat beneath the pillow and his blanket. He smiled, held the delicately embroidered handkerchief to his lips. He didn't deserve her.


	5. Chapter 5

Societal etiquette and standards of behavior dictated she needed to take her hands off of husband from time to time. This was difficult. She couldn't manage it for long, not since she rushed to him in York, not during the drive home, with the reassuring heat and press of his body, not while she watched him eat in the servants' hall, her palm on his arm or shoulder, the outside of her thigh pressed firmly to his. She was nowhere near done with needing to remind herself of the solid dimensions of him and wouldn't be for some time. They had been far too long separated. She ached to be reminded of his comforting sameness and to mark and relearn differences. Propriety restrained her. Something else did, too. Anna could read stories in their brief embraces, in the places she leaned against him, in his guarded expressions. His side was tender, and she could feel how much thinner he was, and while she hoped it was easier on his knee, she didn't like to think of the reasons behind these things. Anna expected him to be apprehensive about his return, he had already been an anomaly in the house and he was a man who despised attracting attention to himself. But there was something more. Something forced in how he seemed, in his cheer, and it bothered her.

After breakfast, they parted company on the servants' landing with a respectably chaste kiss, a hand-squeeze and a shared look that left her breathless from want. While he was away she'd secured permission from Mrs. Hughes to tidy his room from time to time. Mrs. Hughes must have known, but no one ever said a word to her about the nights when she couldn't sleep. Padding down the women's corridor in the dead of night she took the key from its place and unlocked the partition. She always left the key. Cocooning herself in his bed, sometimes in one of his shirts, or wrapped in a suit jacket, helped to invoke memories, to calm the loud voice of despair that she had to keep ignoring. In his room it was easier. His scent had faded to near nothingness. It only lingered in drawers, in the wardrobe. It had been making her strangely panicky when she thought about it, before word came through on the verdict being overturned. Last night, early this morning, she made sure he had fresh linens and towels, water in his pitcher, she had taken the bus over to Ripon during the day and enjoyed selecting a new bottle of Macassar oil, a fine bar of shaving soap and blades for his razor. The toiletries fit neatly in his shaving kit. She sat with its calming weight in her lap for a long while after fitting her purchases inside. When everything was just so, she'd curled on his bed in the dark and dozed for a few hours, nervous that his freedom would be snatched away from them at the last minute. The handkerchief was an afterthought. It was silly, really. It served no purpose, but it was hers and he would know she had been there. It would be tangible, definitive proof.

She thinks of it as she changed into her livery, sees the pale delicate cotton square laying atop a grey wool blanket in her mind's eye and she smiles. He must know by now that her thoughts, her heart and soul were always with him, but she hoped it would remind him. She feIt bright and alive and humming beneath her drab livery, alight with desire and giddy anticipation, like her wedding night all over. He was home. It had been the longest eighteen months of her life, but he was home and his name was cleared — their name was cleared — and he was properly and completely hers. Legally hers. She had every right in the world to walk arm in arm with him down the lane, to be seen together, anywhere, at any time. It wouldn't matter a wit if they stayed at a hotel together or took a holiday together. Her husband was home. It had been the wisest thing she'd ever done to insist he go to Ripon to secure a marriage license. There had not been one time over the course of the last eighteen months that it didn't give her a sense of satisfaction to sign Anna M. Bates to the innumerable bills, titles, legal forms and deeds that had become her responsibility. Even the unkindnesses visited upon her by ignorant near-strangers made her stand taller, made her prouder to be his wife.

Soon they would have a cottage, a place solely for themselves, a real home. It was going to be hard waiting, particularly when they finally stood at the cusp of the rest of their lives. Knowing their luck, they had more difficult times ahead, but at least they would face them together. Daydreams of talking openly, weary from a day's work, and sipping tea in blessed privacy, were never far from her thoughts. They were such simple imaginings, and as of yet, just out of their reach. Anna wanted to watch him fuss over the level of the coal scuttle. She was waiting for the first time he fell asleep with an open book in his hands, to be able to lift it carefully from his grasp and mark his place, and blow out the candle for him. More than anything she yearned to lay with him every night, warm at his side, and wake to his love-filled eyes every morning. She wondered what silly arguments they would have, about who stole the blankets, and who had better keep their cold feet on their side of the bed. Anna knew she'd be guilty of both. She was ready to begin making a life with him at last.


	6. Chapter 6

**There is question as to whether or not their walk is the same day as his release. After consultation with the Oracle, aka Angel-Princess-Anna, (thank you love, you are amazing!) I am choosing to claim artistic license and am doing what I want. And for the intents and purposes of my head canon the night after their walk is their first night together.**

 **Gratitude also goes to all of you who are reading, and squeals and hugs to the reviewers.**

 **IsisTheDog, who's a good dog? Who's a good dog?! YOU'RE a good dog. Seriously, you are such a good dog. Thank you for always reviewing. In my head canon you are either Laura Carmichael or Anne Rice (after my friend told me Anne Rice was into Downton). If you are either of the above, *WAVES!*** **Hi! (Am I the only fic writer who both hopes and fears someone famous is reading my fics?) If you are not, you get to choose who you would rather pretend to be. Thank you.**

 **Extra love to RevFrog for doing an over the phone laying of hands on my broken car. Anyone know a mechanic who likes to read smutty fanfic in lieu of proper payment?**

 **Now that future readers are fully pulled out of the reading zone, without further ado...**

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A proper soak in a proper tub was one of the luxuries he had been looking forward to, and it did not disappoint. Anna's welcoming touches, new toiletries, little gifts scattered throughout his room, brought him to tears once before his bath, and twice while he shaved and dressed, and reacquainted himself with his personal space in the big house.

Though he could never forget his station, he was looking forward to greeting his employer almost as much as if they were friends. He owed the entirety of his current life and any semblance he had of respectability to Robert Grantham and the Crawley family. The reunion with the Earl was brief and genuinely heartfelt, and a reminder of his place as servant. There was no other greeting he could have expected - His Lordship was never untrue to himself or his breeding. John knew the cottage wouldn't be ready yet, but it bothered him that it didn't seem to have crossed the man's mind that it would be needed. At least he didn't cringe at the cavalier suggestion to rest and read. Trapped in a tiny cell, laying on a bunk for a year and a half motivates a man to be up and moving about, proving his worth. But how could he be anything but grateful to the man who provided him with everything? He owed the Earl of Grantham his life five times over at this point.

Despite the oddly deflating reunion with the peer, who was only being a peer after all, he still felt renewed and refreshed from his soak and change of clothes. When he met Anna accidentally on purpose in the hall outside of Lady Mary's bedchamber, it pleased him to stand tall and tidy, freshly shaven. The smile that tugged his lips at her appraising look was genuine. He fell into quiet step next to her. When they were in the servants stair, he relayed what the Earl had told him about the cottage. She rolled her eyes, and leaned close to him.

"I'm sorry it isn't sorted," she whispered. "But I couldn't very well stand at his desk and tap my foot to see that he remembered."

In the semi-privacy of the servants' stair, he could feel the desire sheeting off of her, found he couldn't meet her gaze.

"No, of course not," he said. "It's no matter." His smile was a mask to hide the things he couldn't say.

"We'll manage," she said brightly.

"We always have," he replied.

Cocking her head, she looked at him for a moment before she took his hand and unceremoniously pulled him into a dark, empty closet, one reserved for guest-linens when the wing's many additional rooms were in use. He stiffened.

"Tell me," she whispered.

"I'm fine, it's nothing," he replied.

Even in the dark she saw through him. "It's not nothing. Please tell me."

"I don't know how." It was as close as he could come to an answer.

" _We're_ alright, though?" she asked, her voice small. It came from nowhere, a dagger to his heart that he'd made her wonder. "Aren't we?"

"Oh, Anna." He pulled her solidly to his chest, wound his arms around her, caught the sob before it formed and swallowed it down. "Of course, my darling girl. I'm so sorry. Yes, we're always alright."

"Promise?" She said it so softly he wished he'd imagined it. He touched her face, felt her frown beneath his fingertips, and finally gave in and kissed her like he'd been wanting too, like a man who hadn't touched the woman he loved in eighteen months. For a few long minutes he poured himself into that kiss, in trailing a path of gentle nips and open mouth kisses along the sinew of her throat, from her jaw down to her collar bone and then back. She was trembling and breathing hard when he stepped away.

"I promise. We are always alright. Now, I won't be accused of keeping you from your duties Miss Sm... Mrs. Bates." His smile was wide and heartfelt, because even if he didn't deserve her, she was his now, for good and proper. "Might we take a walk when the day permits?"

Enough light pooled under the closet door that he could watch her brush her hands over her blouse, shaking out her skirt and feeling her hair to make sure it wasn't mussed.

"Lady Mary needs a clutch mended, but as soon as I've finished with it, we could walk by the cottages."

"That sounds like just the thing," he said ignoring the men's shouts and moans that he shouldn't be hearing anymore.


	7. Chapter 7

Anna was Anna and would want words, would want him to explain, at least a little, but he didn't know how to describe what he was experiencing. Words skittered away from him like leaves catching the wind. Everything was brighter, louder, in such sharp focus that it was near painful. Part of him wanted to be alone. In York, he'd been desperately lonely, but never alone. Guilt trickled down his back for feeling impatient in regards to the cottage, for losing control with her in the empty closet, for not wanting the attention paid to him. He should be more grateful, more humble, more patient with people and their kindnesses, even if all he wanted was to hide in the cool dimness of his room.

A quarter hour later, he found her sat, tools gathered, cloth and kit laid out on the servants' table. The chair next to her scraped the floor when he pulled it and sat.

The servants hall felt larger and louder. Perched as near her as a body decently could, John reached for the clutch. She began to protest, but he leaned close and whispered, "Let me. Please. I need to be useful."

It was good of her to pretend to not notice the edge in his whisper, even if she looked at him a moment too long before she placed the handbag into his hands.

The delicate work helped. It pleased him to sew and watch his beautiful wife out of the corner of his eye. He was glad to find that despite the difference between a jute sack and Lady Mary's delicate satin handbag, he was still able to set the line of stitches quickly and well. He schooled his expression, not wishing to give any sign of their encounter in the empty linen closet. Anna was not so subtle. Obviously distracted, her finger pads found the path he'd teased down her pretty neck. She smiled dreamily in the middle of the humming servants' hall, in plain sight of Thomas and Jimmy, and a handful of others who were just finishing their midday tea. It stirred him, filled him with heated pride that he affected her so. He'd accepted that despite all reason she loved him, but he was perpetually shocked that she desired him as genuinely and profoundly as she did. He felt a pang of regret that it would be a while yet of waiting and yearning to show her how much he'd missed her, how much he loved her, how sorry he was he'd put her through so much. None of it was anything he could tell her, for words did nothing to approach describing all he felt, all she evoked in him.

Mr. Molesley jarred him out of his reverie, and proved to be a singular distraction from Anna's indiscretion, clouding the table with awkwardness, drawing attention to the unspoken question of which of them would serve His Lordship. Fortunately, John finished soon after and offered up the mended bag with a smile. Anna rushed it to Lady Mary, with a promise to meet him in the courtyard. He stood amongst the crates, boxes, and barrels, enjoying the crispness of the air. The courtyard had grown to mean more to him than anywhere else in the Abbey. It was a crowded — but usually peaceful — refuge in the bustling swirl of the grand house. It had also been the home of many private conversations with a certain lovely maid. It reminded him that he was awake, here. Inside it had been a touch too warm. He'd left his coat on its hook. It smelled of prison, he realized with a start, as he began to put it on. He would need to launder it before he could wear it again.

When she rushed out the back door, Anna was still buttoning her own coat and almost tripped over her feet in her haste. Few of her moods made her as lovely as when she was giddy. They laughed together. He pulled her to his chest again and hugged her for a few breaths before they set off towards the cottages.

"Your coat and hat?" she asked, her eyebrows raised.

"The air feels good," he said. "And you forget, Mrs. Bates, that you married a military man. A skilled tactician."

"I did, did I?" she asked. "And this has what to do with your hat?"

He stood a bit taller, and held his hand out to her. She grinned and took it, and they began walking. "I only have two hands, one for the stick and one for you."

"Generally hats are worn on one's head, not carried," she said, making a silly face at him.

"I want to feel it if it rains," he said. "Besides, I'll be taking it off every time I kiss you. Better to go without, I think."

The peal of laughter that she loosed went a long way to soothe his frayed nerves. To prove his point, he leaned over and kissed her there, in the daylight, on the road, in full sight of the Abbey. It was only a peck of course; he was ever mindful of her reputation. But, for the first time, they were properly free to act on their affection in broad daylight. It was a satisfying thought, even if Mr. Molesley's interjection back inside served to bring the niggling question of his employment further to the front of his mind.

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 **Loves to Nurs3gir1 for the beta help. Thanks darlin'! And continued gratitude to all you lovely readers and reviewers!**


	8. Chapter 8

They walked, she nattered on, he fretted and she reassured. The familiarity of it warmed her like her wool coat couldn't. For everything that tangled in the net of his concern, she loosed an optimistic perspective. And when she couldn't, she distracted him with a kiss or a look. It wasn't hard. Over the years it became a little game she played adeptly.

"How is Mrs. Gaines at the perfumery?" he asked. "She and Mr. Gaines were expecting their third."

There was a faction in the village and Ripon that believed his guilt and thought her at best mad for her association, and at worst the scheming other woman. Most of those were people who either didn't know them personally, or were miserable in their own lives. Mrs. Gaines surprised her, for she and her husband were always very kind and friendly before the arrest, even if they did seem to put on unnecessary airs. Afterwards, they had never refused her service, but Mrs. Gaines had been cruel about their quiet, rushed wedding behind Anna's back and haughty and cold to her face.

"Well, I assume," she answered as innocently, as normally as she could. The verdict had made quick work of false friends and changed the ways in which she opened herself to strangers and acquaintances alike. "I lost track of them when I started visiting a shop in York. It was convenient and near the bus stop."

That was true enough. It was just off of the line from Ripon. She'd spent too much time on that godforsaken bus, eyes straight ahead shuttling over the countryside. She didn't strike up conversations with strangers anymore, she knew better. Anna smothered the still-fresh anger with a buoyant smile and pulled her husband's hand to her heart.

"It was hard, going to York, sitting so close to you and not being permitted to touch you. I don't want to let go of you now," she said, drawing to a stop, purposely trying to divert his attention. It was easy to enjoy his nearness, to stand on her toes, lean into him and press a line of kisses along the meat of his jaw. He was smiling when he turned his head to meet her mouth.

"I feel as though I'd float off if you weren't holding my hand," he whispered, a long while later, slightly out of breath.

They each had stories they weren't ready to worry the other with yet. She could tell she wasn't fooling him any more than he was fooling her. Much stretched between them, unspoken, existing without words or manner of conveyance. It amused her that in many ways they were both freer with their thoughts when he was trapped in a cell, scratching them out to her on thin, prison-issue paper.

"It almost feels like no time has passed, like we just took this walk a few weeks ago." His voice was raspy, distant. "And in another way it feels like some other man's life."

Anna felt his eyes on her, caught his gaze flicking off of her when she looked. He would talk when he was ready, and would tell her as much as he was able. It was a long established pattern. So she waited in his arms, and then she waited while she walked alongside him, content to hold his hand.

"I'm not sure I'm fit to fill my own shoes anymore," he announced finally, frowning. "A body leaves prison different, changed without intending it, noticing it."

There it was. She had a feeling it was something along those lines, that and his usually quiet self uncomfortable in the center of everyone's attention.

"Life is change, Mr. Bates," Anna declared, pleased to have foreseen this particular concern. "Change, and what we make of it."

"You married a different man, a man of more hope," he said quietly.

Today was a day for wide, open mouthed smiles. Even his fretting pleased her terribly. It was so very him.

"You do realize that with every word you are proving to me how little has changed. You are fresh out of prison. Life can't feel the same, you aren't the same, neither am I. But I love you, and I know you, Mr. Bates, and you'll adjust and adapt, as you always do."

Holding his hand like it was the only thing anchoring either of them, she brimmed with relief. Nothing could dull her joy in having him home.

"Come here," she said, and kissed him again. "My beloved and hatless optimist. You may feel different, but in all the important ways, you haven't changed a bit. Give it time. You've been out for half the day, you'll find your stride. And His Lordship will sort out your job."


	9. Chapter 9

The tender pecks of their walk, the slightly more heated kisses in the servants' courtyard, and the look of longing he cast her way at the sound of the gong all left her aching and thoroughly frustrated. Their whispered promises of soon weren't enough. Not remotely. But she had a job to do, for employers of whom she was deeply fond, and Mr. Bates was here and safe. Anna could bear anything knowing that. Even if their discussions left her feeling uneasy about what he'd just lived through.

Lady Mary seemed exceptionally pleased with herself when she asked after Mr. Bates, inquiring on their walk. Anna managed to say a few words and turn the conversation quickly back to Her Ladyship's day, ignoring the intelligent brown eyes that followed her. Once fully dressed for dinner Lady Mary's smirk broadened to a half-smile.

"Walk with me, Anna," she said with calm authority.

Anna held her breath, and followed like a shadow in her dark livery. She understood immediately what gift was about to be given and it was as unexpected tonight as it was on her wedding night.

Opening the door and ushering them both into the dimness of the unlit room, Lady Mary was regal in her delight.

"Well?" she asked, obviously pleased with Anna's owl-eyed silence. "Come now, Anna. Don't look so surprised. This time around you'll tend to the linens and things yourself. That way it's a quiet affair - no need to trouble Mrs. Hughes. I'll ready myself for bed tonight; this is a simple enough dress. You and your husband will take dinner in the servants hall and will then retire to this room as early as possible, as per my explicit instructions. Use what kindling and candles you need."

Anna nodded. "I don't know what to say, Milady. Thank you."

"Pish tosh. We're all just so terribly pleased that Bates is returned to us. Papa's absolutely hopeless without him. Barrow does the job, but... Well, he's not a batman. Now, I'll leave you to it as you've a bit of work ahead of you. Do be sure to use the nice linens."

Anna bobbed automatically, blushing, not knowing what to do with herself in her joy. "Thank you, milady. For this. For everything you've done."

"Nonsense," Lady Mary said, clasping Anna's hand in an uncharacteristic show of affection. "Now go enjoy a happy second honeymoon, dear Anna. No one deserves it more that you and Bates."


	10. Chapter 10

Anna had always been balm to his wounds. The simple act of confessing his worries on their walk served to lighten his load immeasurably. His troubles weren't gone, but Anna was a reassuring voice of logic when his fears got the best of him. It was how they worked, they bared their souls to one another and grew stronger for it. She always knew what he needed, even when he didn't. They were married because of her. He was alive and free because of her. His heart brimmed full and warm because of her. And their walk past the cottages got him to thinking about the heirlooms his mother had stored under lock and key. It was important to him to make sure she had lovely things for the cottage, and it sounded like it was his paternal grandmother's fine china that had been packed away and spared Vera's wrath. Anna had written to him of all that was saved and all that was destroyed. He was surprised Vera hadn't wrecked more havoc. Now, for the first time, the import of Anna's letter occurred to him. She hadn't said as much, but from the sounds of it, she was very pleased with what was saved.

It was a solid thing to focus on that did not involve ravishing his wife. He had been altogether embarrassed by his baser urges, the number of times he'd had to will away an erection in the last 12 hours was shocking and unrivaled by any other time in his adult life. Twice in the car-ride back to Downton, alone. Setting up house together was a respectable enough endeavor, safe to discuss. He was eager to go with her to London to gather the tangible reminders of his family. He quietly babbled off a plan as they ate, eager for things to move along. It occurred to him as they left the young to their celluloid dreams that she has not spoken much as they ate. He thought her smile was happiness at having him back. But in the dimness behind the baize door, he looked at her again, and saw it for what it was. They ducked into the service stairwell and she started up the steps.

"Anna. What're you plotting?" he asked in a rough whisper, half hard already because it occurred to him when he'd seen her look at him like that. It was a year and a half prior. And she'd leaned near to him in the gallery, clumsy in her giddiness while she led him to a guest room. They stood outside the closed door and he remembered looking at her in disbelief. She had only let go of his hand when she'd bidden him open the door.

"It's Lady Mary's gift to us. She said we could stay the whole night."

When she'd spoken, she was so near that the heat of her words warmed his jaw. He had been thinking — with an odd combination of pride and shame — of what they'd done under the willow after their vows, of how she was both strong willed and yielding at the same time. It had distracted him all day, recalling the scrape of her teeth over his stubble, her determined hands, how he'd bloodied a knuckle when he pushed her up against the tree. She met him motion for motion, rose up when he leant down. He had kissed her, but she'd fucked his mouth with her tongue.

The memory was maddening. He remembered thinking with deep pride that she meant to have him. It poured through him then as it did now; it licked through his thighs and belly, into the pit of his groin, lifting the hair on his arms. When he turned his head she was there, and his world narrowed momentarily to the softness of her lips, the hard line of her corset and swell of her breasts against his arm. Even that relatively chaste contact left them both gasping. The heat of his blush pricked his ears and cheeks. He leaned his head against hers while he steadied his breath. There were tears threatening to spill from his eyes but he blinked them away and slid a hand to rest protectively on the small of her back. She shivered and swayed into him. He basked in the gentle warmth of her body, smelled the lavender and woodsmoke that lingered in her hair. They were stood like that on the third floor servant's landing for longer than was wise, until she placed her palm flat on his chest and pushed away from him with a shy smile.

"Fetch what you need to start the day tomorrow," she murmured, echoing her words to him that night so long ago. "You know the room." The look on her face when she spoke was enough to make him lose his breath again. He caught her hand and held it to his heart.

"I love you," he soughed, barely recognizing his own voice.

Anna smiled brightly and made a face. "I should hope so. You've gone and married me now," she said and with a sweet peck on the lips and a wink, nipped off.


	11. Chapter 11

With his good leg and the help of the hand railing, John mounted the stairs to the cloistered attic rooms two at a time. Thoughts of that night — their night — ripened in his mind. He'd not known what to make of her wide-eyed gaze, whether it was a question, a challenge, a plea, or a pledge.

Unpinning her ruffle and then her apron, her hands shook a little as she flitted down the row of buttons. There were five. He counted as she methodically pulled them. It was the answer to a question he had pondered over for so long that it seemed an old friend. The cream of her corset was a stark contrast to the black of her livery.

Anna must have undressed them both, for he could only half fumble with his buttons faced as he was with an expanse of skin the color of buttermilk. She was lovelier than he had imagined, all shapely thigh and hip, skin pale and painted through with the blue vine-work of blood vessels.

In the darker months of his stay the memories of that one night were what reminded him he was still alive. Thoughts of her fierce boldness sustained his will to carry on when nothing else could. Anna May, his poem of a wife, with hair the rich gold of sun-warmed hay, and a smile as wide as the sea. Anna had practically dragged him to bed. Never had he imagined that she would be the one having her way with him, not their first time together, but she balked at his nerves and took charge. He tried to be chivalrous, and she was having none of it, had pushed him onto his back, made him hers. He'd not been ready for her heat or how tightly her body ringed him. He had not been ready for how slick she was, how enthusiastically she met his thrusts with her own. Splayed beneath her, hypnotized and mute at the sight of breasts that swung as she rode him, he had not been ready at all, had toppled under her in a beautiful fall. He craned his neck to pull a nipple into his mouth and felt her contract tight around him. He'd tried to slow her, to push her off of him as he felt a fiery swelling. She tugged him to her lips and devoured him, breathless and alive with need and want, insistent. "Let me feel you. I need to feel you. Please."

Her eyes flickered dark in the candlelight, holding his gaze, daring him, as her muscles bunched and coiled tight around his swollen sex. It occurred to him that she meant she wanted to feel him come and it made him judder and buck against her. He'd been terrified of hurting her — and supposed he always would be — but she gasped and pulled him tight to her.

She raked her teeth low over his throat. "Please."

A sheepish sense of pride flooded him as he recalled the moment, for even if he hadn't managed to last very long their first time together, the look she gave him when he'd flipped them over had stayed with him. She'd gasped raggedly as he buried himself inside of her. He found his balance and his end on one knee, wrapped in her arms and legs, worried that she hadn't finished. He said as much after Anna finally let him pull free of her heated embrace.

"Something tells me that you'll make sure I'm taken care of," she said, smiling.

She'd been right. A short time later, she was chasing her own pleasure in the palm of his hand. The room was silent save for the sounds of the fireplace, their ragged breath and the quickening, wet slide of flesh on flesh. He chased the tension in her body, wanting to push her over the edge and with a soft whine, she stiffened, gasped his name and gripped him in strong undulating waves. Cradling her and kissing her as she floated back to earth and slumped boneless against him had been the happiest moment of his life. The mind was an interesting thing, for in his recollection, there was nothing of the despair and worry they were both fighting through at the time. Just her body pressed to his body.

He folded his change of clothing into a stack of towels, along with a razor, his Macassar bottle and a small bar of soap. And then he tried reciting the alphabet backwards to make himself presentable enough to venture out of his room. It took three attempts.


	12. Chapter 12

Swollen and slick, her body ached with anticipation. Fewer candles lit the room and she'd left off the electric lights in hopes of emboldening her husband, perhaps herself as well. Anna theorized that he might be less likely to cover their nudity that way. She wanted to feel his gaze paint her body, wanted to watch her effect on him. Years of wanting to see him, to feel the whole of his body molded to hers, to touch pale skin and dark hair weighed heavy on her. She was taut with it, alight with desire. Glancing at herself in the mirror again, the jut of her nipples scandalized her. She felt more nervous than she'd been on their actual wedding night. Satin hung cool and decadent over the otherwise bare curves of her body. It was the first she'd owned; she'd never experienced it's wicked drape or slide this intimately. Adept at resizing Lady Mary's cast-offs, she smoothed her palms over her handiwork. It was a simply cut nightdress, cream colored, with a lace décolleté. A few well placed darts, a significantly raised hemline, and a quick nip in at the shoulder and it looked like it was made for her. She'd considered wearing the garter too, but it would keep, she'd save it for their first night in the cottage, it and the wickedly sheer nightdress she hadn't quite finished sewing from the leavings of Lady Mary's French silk. She wanted to honor the momentousness of that night, too. Their first night properly and truly alone in their own home was a moment she'd worried would never happen. Anna would make it memorable; life had given her a long loneliness to rehearse. Freed from plait and coil, her hair hung to her waist in shining waves. She'd freshened herself in the elegant water closet, dabbed the smallest bit of perfume on her wrists, and as an afterthought, between her breasts. It smelled warm, sweet, of amber, vanilla, and bergamot. A speck of a phial, it was the tiniest amount available of the expensive French scent. She'd been saving it for him. There was so much she had been saving to share with him, so much that wasn't worth enjoying if he wasn't enjoying it with her.

Anna stepped to the fireplace and stood at the mantle, looked sidelong at the racy painting, the one of the naked woman. Danaë, Mr. Bates had called her. He'd told Anna the myth behind the painting, a king locking his daughter away so she wouldn't birth the grandson prophesied to kill him. The painting captured the moment that Danaë received Jupiter who rained down on her in the form of gold coins. It didn't make any sense to her, but then most of the ancient myths didn't seem to make sense. Anna had absently toyed with the hair on his arm while she admitted that she'd barely been able to bring herself to look at it when she first started at Downton. It was so urgent and scandalous, it made the housemaids giggle. She had kept her eyes downcast while in the room until she hadn't anymore. Then she couldn't stop looking at it, and she understood the longing, the waiting, the offering it portrayed. She let out a deep sigh, waiting for her own Jupiter.

When he walked in — the nervous boy he sometimes showed her — Anna nearly broke down to weeping relief. Nearly, but not quite, for the flesh and bone before her was real and not some figment. His gaze travelled the length of her body, and she watched him go taller and broader somehow, the boy gone, disappeared entirely, and then stick and jacket were tossed at the nearest chair and in a breath and a half he'd rounded the foot of the bed and pulled her to his chest, kissed her cheeks and stooped to rest his head on her shoulder, cradling her. She stared at the painting and heard her breath catch when his mouth opened wet and round on her throat


	13. Chapter 13

While he kissed his wife, John wondered how loudly his nerves were telegraphing themselves. Had she noticed how he glanced about, afraid of his own pleasure, of seeming too joyful, wary of the weakness it exposed in him? Even in the dim light of the borrowed room, though they were alone, he tamped down the urge to check the doors and dark corners, swallowed the echo of steel slamming, of men shouting and wailing in despair. He had to breathe deeply to push it away and feel her, to remember that it was done. They were safe. Everything was alright, even if it wasn't. She reminded him of it with an arm looped round his waist. Pulling him ever closer to her, she arched her back, curved her body towards him, and pressed her stomach to his erection. It seared through him then — as it had the last time they were in this room — that she meant to have him. That thought burned in his blood like it had on their wedding night. Lord knew he needed her more than he could say.

He was minutely aware of the sleekness of her satin nightdress, the clean scent of her, hung with a heady, unfamiliar perfume, and when the blessing of her became too much to bear, the sting of blinked back tears. Then she was helping him out of his shirt, fingers loosening his tie, unfastening his cufflinks and collar, whipping down the row of shirt buttons.

He'd done nothing in his life to be deserving of the love, the unadulterated devotion he saw in her eyes when she looked up at him as she paused to slip cufflinks and collar studs in his trouser pocket. Adrift without her, her letters and visits were his anchors, his beacons in the darkness. He would find a way to show her, because words could never express what she was to him, how he needed her strength, how she had become everything to him. She was his family, his world, his beginning and end. And then he lost himself completely, press his face tight to her neck, wrapped his arms even tighter around her, and wept out loud for the relief of it all. To feel the sturdy reassurance of her.

Bless her, his darling wife — tender in her concern — for she kissed his wet cheeks and hushed him and joined in his tears.

"Oh my dearest-heart, you're here, you're safe," she said sweetly in his ear. Her words, her soft crooning made him weep all the more.

"I thought I would never feel you again," he said, whispering roughly.

"I know." It was the only time her voice broke. "I know. But we're here now. It's over."

He knew better than anyone, it was never truly over, but they were — at the very least — safe. He touched her cheek, held her face in his hands, and searched her eyes. "Because of you."

"Hush. You'd have done the same." She blinked and held his gaze. Then she stole a kiss and raised her eyebrows. "Now, I believe you were going to take me to bed, Mr. Bates?"

He gave up trying to regain his composure when he remembered how she spread her fingers over his cheeks and pulled him down to her mouth on their wedding night. He had closed his eyes, and opened himself to her in that moment, put himself entirely in her hands. She didn't need to be given control of a situation, this woman who had chosen him. He should have guessed, should have known. She had kissed him senseless, taken charge, broken over him like a wave crashing to the shore, And now, she was doing the same thing, only this time it was simply the desire in her gaze leaving him breathless, with no doubt of her intentions, drumming up the intensity of his own.

He let go of her to touch her face, to remap the familiar corner of her jaw, the smooth tendon and pulse of her throat. He brushed his thumbs over her lips, her cheekbones, smiled when she closed her eyes and leaned into the gentle touches. Even the brief, chaste kiss he pressed to her brow left them both gasping with need.

For a long moment they were still, and he reveled in the way her muscles bunched and trembled at his touch. For the first time in almost fourteen years, he gave in. Satin slid easily up over thigh, and with one arm tight to her back, and on hand spread wide supporting her bottom, he lifted her to him. She muffled her glee in his shoulder, giggling, wrapping her legs tightly around his trunk, and held to his neck and shoulders. Once he had her on her back at the edge of the bed, she only let him straighten long enough to unfasten his belt and trousers before she pulled him down to her, smiling, shaking with silent laughter. Together they scrambled to free him, to push and tug aside clothing until he was pressing into her heat and they were both gasping.

They moved together, need turning the corner to desperation. She bit the fleshy part of his shoulder, met his hips with her own, received him in blinding, wet pleasure. There was no subtle tease or caress. Not at that moment. Just then there was only eighteen months of fear and anxiety and a faltering, aching loneliness they were trying to burn away, to melt and mold into something stronger and purer and new. They were all raw sound, erratic movement and claw-fingered grips. Their bodies kept time with the beating of their hearts. He dipped his head to her breasts, pulled first one then the other nipple deep into his mouth, and felt her tighten around him. She cried out quietly and dug her heels into his lower back, bucking against him, her climax surprising him, triggering his own and he drove into her helplessly, bursting into a shower of sparks, while she shivered and pulsed around him.


	14. Chapter 14

Anna hadn't expected him to be so assertive, but she liked it all the same. She wasn't properly surprised at the strength of his need, it easily mirrored her own, but it pleased her that he seemed less fettered by the fears that held him in check the last go around.

Her hands searched out the textures of him. Eyes closed she was sensate again, her mind magnified the way he covered the length of her neck in slow, wet kisses, gentle nips. She felt the blooming of what was between them, electric and throbbing.

Once in the heat of summer they met in the darkness of the courtyard long after everyone had gone to bed. They had let things get away from them and he dipped his head to her breast, nipped and mouthed it through her nightdress and she'd cried out from the forbidden pleasure of it, had frightening them both to their senses.

Now. Now there was no need to stymie herself, to hold herself in check and she felt herself undulate against him, his touches, his trail of kisses stoked her desire.

"I've thought of us, like this, so many times," she whispered, her eyes still tightly shut. It made her heart pound to say it out loud. She wouldn't have been able to say it with her eyes open.

He hummed against her rib-cage, she could feel his smile on her skin. He painted her with the barest touches, eliciting breathy gasps, velvet moans. So often had she let her gaze linger on his hands as they polished buttons or shoes, mended tears, turn pages and every time she wondered what it would feel like for him to touch her. To feel his fingerprints burning into the skin of her belly or thigh, raising goose-flesh on her arms, pebbling her nipples.

Over the years, in the quiet of night she traced the places she imagined he'd touch her. But it hadn't come close to the sensations he evoked, couldn't compare to the look on his face. He was playing her, she realized, like an instrument, watching, feeling, listening, responding. His profession was anticipating needs and wants, reading nonverbal cues, and when he turned his skills on her it was all encompassing. His hands were large. They spanned her stomach, warmed the tender flesh there. His mouth was wet and open on her hip, his teeth and tongue marked a path down her thigh and she gasped when long, graceful fingers teased her most intimately.

Anna's pleasure left her in sighs and gasps, in soft hums and whining cries. And his mouth. He was insistent, and made satisfied noises into her skin when she bucked against him. She could feel herself clench around his fingers and he slowed but didn't stop, not for long. Again and again he wrung climax after climax from her, pushing her over the edge and letting her settle down only to tease her to heights again, until she was weeping and gasping, quaking from the pleasure of it. And all she could do was laugh, toes still curled, sheepish for losing herself so utterly and deliriously in this beautiful man who loved her.

When her trembling stilled, he rested his head on her hipbone and looked at her. She caressed him where her hands fell, sated for now, lazy, but wide awake. He watched her and sighed, smiled, his adoration warming her skin as much as the fire.

"Let me look at you, my beauty. Please. Just let me look at you," he said, in a quiet voice.

* * *

 **Where'd** **you go? Y'all ok? It got realllll quiet in here.**


	15. Chapter 15

"Worth the wait then?" she asked, her voice rough with desire, her scent in his nostrils, taste on his tongue.

When Anna grinned and giggled, John felt it in the pit of his stomach. She permeated his senses. He encircled her hips and waist, and kissed the soft skin of her belly in silent gratitude. Giving a clumsy heave, he righted himself and settled next to her. He could tell from the hiss of her breath through her teeth, and the stillness of her expression that she'd finally seen the angry bruise that colored his left side. His hand slid up over the smooth slope of her stomach. A few days ago his attention lapsed and Craig dragged him into a dark corner for a sharp bit of retaliation. The news of his impending release had filtered through. Craig was alone, thinking himself holder of the upper hand. John took his kicks long enough to grab hold of Craig's leg and land a sharp blow to his groin that left him wheezing on his hands and knees. Panting, John gripped the man by the throat. "Try it again, you bastard," he'd said. "And see what happens."

Craig hadn't.

Anna frowned and touched the edges of the bruise gently.

"It's nothing," he said a little too quickly.

"It's not nothing," she whispered.

"Everyday it's a bit better, please don't worry."

Her frown deepened.

"I do worry," she said and looked away. "I've done nothing but worry. I love you." The air was cold on his skin when she pushed off of the bed. He stopped himself from reaching for her, his stomach sinking. To his deep relief she caught his eye and made a sheepish face at him, nodding towards the water closet. He flopped backwards on the bed and scrubbed his hands over his face, smiling briefly that he could smell her on them.

John felt terribly out of place - sticky, sweaty, coarse and ungainly amongst such wealth. This time yesterday he was crammed on a cold, narrow bunk. He had no right to this happiness, this resplendence. But Anna did, and he had to somehow marry the notion that he deserved nothing and she deserved everything with the fact that they were in all of it together. His one respite was the distracting taste of his wife still rich in his mouth. Everything about her was so much more than he remembered, her wit, her grace, her beauty. She was more than he had any right to.

"God help me," he whispered out loud. "God help her."

A deep sigh rattled from his lungs and he stared into the flames willing some secret meaning or solution to his problems to be revealed. He'd been vacillating between guilt, worry, pride, and a sort of Christmas morning excitement since she told him to meet her. Truth be told he just wanted to hold her, to feel her small, cold hands press into the warmth of his skin, to breathe in the scent of her hair. He was unnerved by the day, he always was when he felt a surfeit of happiness. He didn't trust it.

The door opened and she stood tall, stark blooming naked, hair flowing, hands on her pretty hips. "You'll go to Dr. Clarkson tomorrow and let him look you over, and I'll have no argument," she said with finality.

It was all he could do to not burst out laughing. She was a force to be reckoned with, his Anna. John took a deep breath, released it, stood and pulled her into his arms. "First thing, my darling."

She held fast to him, taking long, deep, shaking breaths. "You've lost so much weight," she said quietly. "What else did they do to you?"

"I think it's helped my knee," he said, deliberate in ignoring her question. "Or maybe the shrapnel shifted. It doesn't hurt as much."

Doubt weighed down her lips, furrowed her brow. "Just go see the doctor tomorrow."

He nodded and kissed her again before taking his own awkward leave to freshen and relieve himself, grinning broadly the entire time. When he slipped back into bed with her, she scowled and cuddled into him. "You should have told me."

"I ... needed you ... as you were. If you'd have noticed you'd have treated me like I was made of glass."

She snorted. "Probably. I didn't hurt you, though?"

"No, my darling, you didn't hurt me in the slightest," he said in humming singsong. They were peas in a pod, the two of them.


	16. Chapter 16

The dream he woke from was hazy, he'd been following her through a dim, closed-in space, her hair down in shining waves. She kept turning and smiling at him like she did when trying to pull him out of the maze of his thoughts.

"We'll just have to find you new shoes," she said. "That's all there is to it, Mr. Bates, honestly."

And then with a sigh, he woke to the soft heat of his wife's bare skin at his side, her legs tangled in his. Her eyes glinted in the darkness, cool fingertips spread and closed, stroked his chest, toyed with the dark hair that spilled down onto his belly.

"You were dreaming," she said softly, nestling closer to him. The intimacy of it was all he'd ever wanted, even if the circumstances were suspect. He pressed his lips to her forehead, breathed in the sleepy scent of her hair. She pushed up on her elbow, leaned over him, traced the stubble on his cheeks, the fanning lines at the edges of his eyes, the bridge of his nose. He flicked his tongue against the pads of her fingers when she ran them over his lips and smiled when the action elicited a gasp. When he opened his eyes she caught him again in the wide depths of hers glinting in the ember-lit dimness. She ran her thumb over the scar on his right cheek, then leaned down and kissed it lightly.

"Didn't you sleep?" he asked.

The pause that followed was answer enough.

"I kept waking, thinking you'd be gone," she finally admitted, her hand stilling for a moment before rousing to explore the textures of his chest again.

They were words to make a man hold his wife tighter, and he did. "I keep thinking I'll wake up and be there, away again, so we're not too far off from one another."

"Sorry lot, we are," she said and sighed. He felt her smiling and smiled himself.

"No other lot I'd rather be in," he whispered. "Best thing you ever did was strong arm me into marrying you."

She laughed out loud, muffling herself in the down-filled silk of the luxurious comforter, finding his lips in the dark when when the outburst quieted. "For a military man of your size, you're easy enough to strong arm when it comes down to it."

"That's because you don't abuse your superior firepower. I don't think I could deny you anything you'd properly set your heart on."

"Duly noted, Mr. Bates."

"Now, if you will help me extract myself, Mrs. Bates, I'll add some wood to the fire."

"Let me," she whispered, running her thumb over his lip before kissing him again. "I've waited a long time to properly be your wife, to see you warm and happy. Let me. Please. Now, help me mind your leg."

Ever careful of him, she disentangled herself and padded across the floor, a pale figure in the early-morning darkness. She knelt, holding her hair protectively back from the fireplace while she added fresh kindling. With, measured, full-lunged breaths and a hunched back she coaxed flames from the embers. The fire warmed the colors of the room, painted a corona around the edges of her skin, along the sleek current of her hair when she backed away from the flames and let it fall. He blinked at his tears, breathed into his happiness and opened his arms when she returned to the pocket of heat she'd left behind. He followed the lines of her body, the perfectly generous flare of her hips as she clambered without a hint of self-consciousness onto the borrowed bed. Her soft soprano dropped to a low, heady chuckle when she brushed against his erection. He felt her movement like flames flashing through him, then hissed when a cold hand palmed his length.

"Well then, Mr. Bates," she murmured, all breathy and sounding every bit the northern lass. "And here I was, worried you'd be keen for a lay in after all our excitement."


	17. Chapter 17

It both humbled and excited her that she could render him so helpless with only eager hands and heated, open-mouthed kisses to his throat and chest. Seven stone she was, and with a look, with the barest touch of her tongue to his lips, could make this man twice her weight tremble like a candle-flame. She would never tire of it.

Anna affected a casual confidence as she spoke, as though they'd had this sort of conversation before, as though he could form cogent words while she gripped him, as though the angry, yellow-edged bruise hadn't put the fear of God into her. She ignored herself, instead focusing her energy and attention to him, to working every drop of pleasure from his supine form.

"I take it you don't mind rising a little early today?" she asked, delighting in the new dimension to the game, letting her worries, the gnawing agony of the past several years fall away like petals from a fruiting flower.

John, for his part, groaned, hushed and rumbling.

Experimenting with a firm, slow stroke, she smiled when he made a strangled sound and dropped his head back on the satin clad pillow. Which gave her an idea. Words flew away from him like birds to the trees when she touched him certain ways, in certain places. Rubbing the satin sheet over his nipples evoked a groan. She chuckled low in her throat and enjoyed the feel of his side through the satin. When she teased at his nipple with her tongue and teeth, he gasped.

"You wicked, wicked woman," he said, finally finding his voice, drawing her up to him, pulling her tight to his mouth, his kiss heavy, tongue thick against hers. When they parted, gasping, she grinned wide, greedy for him, and feathered kisses down over his breastbone. Gently, she soothed the bruised skin of his ribcage with her kisses and the cool span of her satin covered palms. She met his eyes, stilled her mind and drank in the sensual slide of her skin against his.

She pulled back and watched him squirm slightly beneath her gaze before smiling and trailing kisses down his torso.

"Anna," he tried to interject. This sweet hulking fool of a man, always so determined to be the gentleman. "You don't need..."

A glare was all that was necessary to silence him, so that she might continue lipping the trail of silky hairs beneath his navel in peace. She grazed the soft skin of his hip with her fingernails and he was glorious in his quivering helplessness, her sizable husband.

"Do you honestly think that after all this time," she said, barely recognizing the burr of her own voice. "I'd not be desperate to love you every way imaginable?"

Her eyes didn't leave his, her hands never ceased their motions. At first she waited for him to look away, thinking it would shock him. That didn't work, so she wrapped one hand in slippery satin and giggled at the low growl the difference in textures evoked. When she ran the flat of her tongue along his length, his eyes snapped shut and he gasped. When she took him in her mouth he cried out like a woman.

He was hot and swollen and so delicate. The salt of him, the thin glistening skin made her want him inside of her again, but he was so lovely sprawled as he was, hissing her name, swearing, occasionally using the Lord's name in vain. So she enjoyed the sensual ache low in her belly, the tang of him on her tongue and the virile, round weight of him in her palm.

Her touches began experimental and tentative, growing and unfolding with her confidence. She tracked the rate of her learning curve with the raggedness of his breath, the number of times she mouthed him and he couldn't silence or still himself. She was opportunistic, used her hands to measure and caress, but noticed immediately how the fall of her hair affected him and let it slide over his flesh. She took a moment to catch her breath, to lay a row of wet kisses along swollen flesh, to watch him, beautifully disheveled and panting.

* * *

 **Thanks and love to my sweet readers and reviewers. Hope you are enjoying these tortured goobers in the wee hours of the morning as much as I am.**


	18. Chapter 18

"Come here, husband," she said, and he pushed himself up to gather her close, to nuzzle towards her expectant mouth. She sat astride his thighs, tendrils of hair cascading around him and kissed him hard.

After so long in the cold, alone, he shuddered with desperation, searched her mouth, greedy to have his fill of her, knowing full well he never would. With a rapid calculation of angles he rolled her onto her back, proud when she buried a delighted peal of laughter in his shoulder. They fumbled to fit their bodies together, momentarily clumsy. He cried out again when they were joined, and she covered his mouth with both of her hands, shushing him, shaking with silent laughter.

"Mr. Bates!" she hissed. "Do you really want His Lordship bursting in to catch us in this state?"

Oh Lord, this woman!

The chuckle stayed low in his throat and he stilled his hips. Two could play, after all.

"True," he said, doing his best to keep to a somber whisper. "I shouldn't like to rub his nose in what his money can't buy. Bad form."

Dropping his head to kiss her breasts, he suckled at first one, then the other, refusing to close his eyes, enjoying the nearness of her skin, the pretty puckering of gooseflesh. Working his way up her throat to her earlobe, he was overwhelmed with gratitude. He loved the scent of her hair. Anna made disagreeable little noises, and tried to rock up to meet him, to deepen their contact but his response was to withdraw himself entirely, to hold himself away for a moment, only long enough to get her attention. Her eyes snapped open, and while she looked at him, her expression was faraway, unreadable. Finally, with a shaky breath, she pulled him back down to her, sought out his mouth with a hunger that should not have surprised him, but did, nonetheless. He groaned aloud when she sucked lightly on his tongue. They both whined soft and low when he slid back inside of her in a long, slow motion.

It killed him, that in such a moment he kept thinking how it was never this way with Vera. Whatever he and Vera had, it was nothing compared to what crackled and sparked with Anna. He was making love to the one woman in the world who mattered to him and five times now he'd thought of Vera. It was only natural that his mind compare, but Anna bore no comparison. Things that Vera had said and done that seemed or that made him feel vulgar, felt only pure and right with Anna. He'd never trusted Vera, never fully believed her intentions. Even thinking of her made him feel soiled somehow.

"Come back to me," Anna murmured, cupping his cheek. "I need you."

There was enough light to see the worry in her eyes. He kissed her in apology, sank deeper into her, pulling himself from her warmth before moving back inside of her, enjoying the swelling of their desire, drawing out the climb. Then Anna was saying things to him, words he hadn't expected to hear from those lips - soft-spoken desires, ways she longed for him to touch her, how she needed him inside of her. He couldn't remember desiring a woman the way he wanted her in those moments. With whispers and the press of her fingernails, she egged him on until he was taking her with abandon. She was all around him and met him, received him, stroke for stroke, her body flashing fire, yielding, molten and strong. He rolled his hips, burying himself, fighting to hold his tongue. Somehow, to his heady pleasure, he realized that the deeper he moved inside of her, the stronger her heels dug into his backside. When she shook around him, telegraphing her pleasure with body arched and rippling, she crooned his name and he lost himself, triumphant. Erupting with a guttural groan, he pounded into her, rode out his release.

Anna tightened her grip around him as he let his body half collapse against her. Though she encouraged him, he couldn't shake the concern that he was too heavy for her. The path of her hands over his back went a long way to distract him, but even still. He had a plan, and rolled off of her as soon as she would let him. Standing, he had to brace himself for a moment, woozy from the blood that still hadn't fully returned to his brain, and shuffled over to retrieve the carefully folded treasure — the handkerchief she'd left him — from his coat pocket.

She watched him with a sated expression, more lazy than curious, made no move to cover herself. He smiled at the unearthly creature that was his wife. He kissed her, smiled into her hum, and with great care pressed the cloth between her legs and wiped her clean.

She smiled sweetly at him and kissed his cheek. "Give it here," she said. "I'll wash and press it later."

"You'll do nothing of the sort," he said in a low growl, and caught her lower lip gently between his teeth before rising to carefully fold it and return it to his pocket. Her wide-eyes, half-smile and slightly shocked expression pleased him immensely.


	19. Chapter 19

They shared the smooth caress of skin on skin for as long as they could. Anna finally sighed and pronounced the sky far too lightened to stay abed.

"Ivy will be 'round knocking doors, so I'd best be up and about to give myself an alibi."

Anna retreated to the loo to ready herself for the day, but not before insisting that he have a lay-in for her, that she would bring him tea and toast after she tended to Lady Mary's breakfast tray. She even pulled out a wrapped parcel.

"So you won't get bored," she said sweetly.

He listened to his wife go about her morning toilette and with a deep sigh, determined to be content with his blessings whether or not he deserved them, to enjoy the rare luxury of a large, soft bed, to be grateful for his comfort and safety, and Anna's unbridled joy. He picked up the gift. A book. She was unendingly thoughtful, this woman who had insisted on his hand, on having a right to her place in his life. God, he loved her, more than he thought possible, more than he did when he married her, even. In the brief time he had been to his bedroom, he had found new toiletries, a fresh tin of peppermints, a hand-knit scarf of warm, green wool, matching socks, a small tin of the almond biscuits he liked when they went to tea in Ripon, and the handkerchief of course. She had left so many small touches. Now this. He unwrapped the volume carefully and smiled. _To Let,_ by John Galsworthy. He enjoyed the Forsyte Saga, had mentioned it once, and of course she'd remembered.

Anna bustled back into the bedroom looking her usual smart, drab self. A lady's maid couldn't outshine the Lady, after all. In that moment whether she was playing the maid, or wife, he wasn't sure. She wasted no time flinging wide the curtains and building and stoking the fire.

"Thank you for remembering," he said, holding up the novel.

Anna rolled her eyes at him. "How could I forget? You went on about the first one for days."

"Days? Surely I..."

"Days," she said, in the tone that brooked no argument. "Now, I know I told you to go to the doctor straightaway, but would you wait until after I look in on Lady Mary so that we might walk to town together? I'm afraid I'm not quite ready to have you away from me just yet."

John smiled. "That sounds like just the thing, a walk en plein air with a beautiful woman on my arm."

* * *

Less than an hour later she'd returned with a bowl of porridge with raisins, clotted cream, and sugar, scrambled eggs, fresh toast dripping with butter, and even a few rashers of bacon.

"From Mrs. Patmore," Anna said, setting the tray carefully over his lap and proceeded to relay the cook's insistence that the plates were only to be returned to her if they were empty.

"She mumbled something about needing to get some meat back on the bone," Anna said, not bothering to hide her delight. "And Mr. Carson said to say that Mr. Murray has been in touch with His Lordship and will be facilitating Mrs. Bow's move to the village over the next week or so. She is apparently eager to be settled in as soon as possible. So maybe in a few weeks..."

"Good," he said, tucking in, enjoying the treat of scrambled eggs. He offered her a corner of bacon, glanced up at her after he swallowed. "After learning the full extent of your charms, I will be hard pressed to refrain from succumbing to them and pulling you into the nearest alcove at any given moment."

"We've made it this long without shaming our prestigious employers, Mr. Bates," Anna said with a particularly wicked smirk. "I promise I'll behave, if you will. Though you realize, that all bets are off once we are in the cottage."

"I should hope so."

She laughed and touched his cheek, kissed his forehead before standing. "Leave your things here. We'll go into town and when we return I'll tend the room and get them discreetly back to you."

The angle of her stance changed as he watched her. She was going to insist on something, he could tell. She frowned, not looking quite at him.

"Tell me," he said softly.

Her eyes found his. "It's a while off yet," she began. "But I should like for us to do something special in April, for our anniversary. We could spend a few days away somewhere, maybe a week, just the two of us on a proper honeymoon. I started setting aside a bit extra each month." The flush on her cheeks spread to her ears and she glanced at him. "Long before I insisted you marry me."

"Where did you have in mind to go, my darling?"

"Anywhere," she stated, brightening. "So long as it's with you."

 _Fin_

* * *

 **It has been a lovely romp, my dearhearts. I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have. Don't fret too much. I've been wanting to write some happy cottage fluff for a while now. This little endeavor will continue soon in a companion piece that will likely be titled "In Eachother's Pockets." (Though hopefully not before I get a chapter of WW &B out.) leave a review if you enjoyed it!**


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